


Near Death Experiences and Petnames are the Best Way to Start the Day

by GinnyRose



Series: Peter Parker: Disaster Bi Extraordinaire [9]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: BAMF Pepper Potts, Bisexual Peter Parker, Extensive Use of Petnames, Gay Ned Leeds, M/M, Mostly Team Cap Friendly, Ned Leeds is a Little Shit, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Just Wants Cereal, Phone Calls, Precious Peter Parker, Rogue Avengers return, Scary Natasha Romanov, Slight Team Ironman, Teasing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyRose/pseuds/GinnyRose
Summary: Peter was panicking.Not a lot, of course, because he was a full-fledged superhero and superheroes only panicked a little. Then again, Peter wasn’t currently in the super suit and his heart was beating much faster than normal.Okay, so maybe it was more than a little panic.Maybe Peter was nearing full on freak out and trying really hard to keep it hidden.But no one could really blame him for panicking. It wasn’t everyday that he was stared down by Natasha Romanov wielding a wickedly sharp knife in her hand while he stood in front of an open fridge, wearing Hello Kitty pajama pants and one of Ned’s worn Star Wars sweaters. He blamed Mr. Stark for this one.Or: Peter had been having a good week until the Universe - in the form of a forced visit to the compound and a red-haired ex-Assassin - decided to bring it crashing down.





	Near Death Experiences and Petnames are the Best Way to Start the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick warning: there is some minor Nat bashing with Pepper but this is in no way an anti-Nat or anti-Team Cap story. Pepper is just (reasonably )mad.

Peter was panicking.

                Not a lot, of course, because he was a full-fledged superhero and superheroes only panicked a little. Then again, Peter wasn’t currently in the super suit and his heart was beating much faster than normal.

                Okay, so maybe it was more than a little panic.

                Maybe Peter was nearing full on freak out and trying really hard to keep it hidden.

                But no one could really blame him for panicking. It wasn’t everyday that he was stared down by Natasha Romanov wielding a wickedly sharp knife in her hand while he stood in front of an open fridge, wearing Hello Kitty pajama pants and one of Ned’s worn Star Wars sweaters. He hadn’t even brushed his _teeth_ yet.  He was standing in front of Natasha Romanov in bright pink pants and sporting morning breath.

                He blamed Mr. Stark for this one. And Aunt May too, just a bit, for good measure. But mostly Mr. Stark.

                His week had started out well enough. It was officially AP season in school, meaning the vast majority of Peter’s classes were neck deep in review and all of his classmates were scrambling to cram as much information in their heads as was physically possible. It was a lucky break for Peter because it meant that Flash, who had spent more time at school bragging about his intelligence rather than actually studying, was far too busy to try and get back at Peter for humiliating him at the last Academic Decathlon field trip. Peter himself was, for once, not panicking about the upcoming exams, largely because he wasn’t taking most of them. The tests, which were nearly a $100 apiece, were simply too expensive for May to afford all of them, so Peter had decided to take just two out of the four he was eligible for,  chemistry and calculus, which, after working with Mr. Stark for several months, were undoubtedly going to be a breeze.

                Academic Decathlon meetings had been temporarily postponed until after the exams, which meant that Peter was able to sit back and relax at school while everyone around him more or less panicked. He studied with MJ and Ned, of course, and still did all the review work required by his teachers, but it was easily the most on schedule he had been at school for a long time. He’d even convinced May to let him go out Spider-Manning for an hour longer on the week days because he didn’t have any real homework and all of his patrols had been fairly easy, run-of-the-mill nights filled with petty crime and lost tourists. He and Ned had even managed to find time to curl up and watch a few episodes of a sitcom together.

                It had been a good week all around.

                Peter should have known it wasn’t going to last.

                The first hint of trouble came on Thursday, after he had come home from school. May had been waiting for him – which was not quite unusual as she normally always got off early on Thursday. What had been unusual, however, was Mr. Stark calmly sitting in their living room, a glass of water in his hand. Peter had seen him and nearly walked straight back out. The last time Mr. Stark and May had been in the same room, waiting for him, it was to lay down the guidelines for Spider-Man and it had been distinctly unpleasant, mostly due to the rather red mark on Mr. Stark’s cheek were May had smacked him and partly due to the rather heavy feeling of a child being scolded by their parents that had permeated the air. It had not been an experience Peter was keen to repeat.

                Unfortunately, his aunt knew him well and she had been up and pulling Peter towards the living room before he’d even had a chance to turn to escape. Peter had reluctantly sat down on the couch, bracing himself for a lecture. He hadn’t thought he’d done anything wrong, recently, unless Karen had told Mr. Stark about the near shooting incident. But that had hardly been _his_ fault and the bullet had missed him by nearly an inch anyway.

                What followed, however, was not a lecture. It was something rather worse.

                May had to go on another trip. One of her fellow nurses had signed up to give a talk at a Jersey nursing school, but she had fallen sick and May had been volunteered to read her speech instead. It had been sprung up on May, but the other nurse had offered her half the pay and it was good money. The only problem was that it was an overnight trip and, after the last one where Peter had neglected to tell his aunt about his massive crush on Ned before she allowed them to stay together unsupervised, she wasn’t about to let him have the apartment to himself again.

                That had been when Mr. Stark’s presence came in and Peter’s nightmare began. May had shared her predicament with the older man and he had apparently jumped at the chance of humiliating the teenager by agreeing to watch him for the weekend. It hadn’t been the first time May had asked Mr. Stark to watch over Peter but he had managed to get out of that embarrassment by having Ned stay over. There was no escape this time, and judging by Mr. Stark’s rather amused grin, there would be no escape from the humiliation either.

                It wouldn’t even be the first time Peter had stayed over on the weekend – he had done so several times since he had started working on Avengers’ tech. But it was the first time he would be going because May was going to be gone and didn’t trust him to take care of himself without adult supervision. Which was completely unfair – Peter went Spider-Manning all the time without supervision – excluding Karen and the feeds she sent Mr. Stark and all the protocols put up that would alert Mr. Stark whenever anything bad happened – and almost nothing ever went wrong. Apart from the times he got shot at. Or stabbed. Or dumped in lakes. Or accidently contributed to a bombing of a national monument. Or was indirectly responsible for a ferry getting cut in half. Or non-intentionally downed a multi-million-dollar plane filled with incredibly dangerous and expensive weapons and raw materials.

                Okay, maybe May had a point. That didn’t mean he had to _like_ it.

                He didn’t even try arguing with them – he knew it was a lost cause the moment he saw both of them sitting in the living room together. They didn’t often see eye-to-eye, Mr. Stark and Aunt May, but when they did, whatever they decreed was basically divine law and utterly inescapable. Peter had, however, grumbled about it plenty - through his texts with Ned when he’d had to cancel their standing Saturday date, through his goodbyes with May, throughout the two hour car ride to the compound after school on Friday, at least until Happy had threatened to pull over and leave him on the side of the road to walk the rest of the way, and through his first hour in Mr. Stark’s lab, while the older man had teased him mercilessly with threats of calling his aunt and putting him in ‘time-out’ if he misbehaved.

                All in all, Peter had grumbled a great deal about his predicament, but had he known that it would lead him to meeting the Black Widow in his most ridiculous pajamas, with the worst case of bed-head imaginable, the creases of his pillow still embedded on his cheek while his spider sense buzzed angry warnings in his head,  he would have complained quite a bit more. He would have complained an astronomical amount.

                He hadn’t even met any of the other Avengers yet – Mr. Stark had been adamant in keeping Peter separate from the pack of incredibly dangerous adults that had started to make their way back into the country in the last month – and here he was, standing in front of one of the deadliest people in the world with a half-empty gallon of milk in one hand and an overflowing bowl of Captain Crunch in the other. Mr. Stark was going to kill him for this, he was pretty sure, if the Black Widow didn’t get there first.

                Her knife was _wickedly_ sharp.

                “Umm…hi?” Peter said finally, cheeks flushing pink at the way his voice squeaked. He was trying very hard not to fidget as the woman in front of him continued to stare him down. Mr. Stark had told him a while back that some of the Avengers were moving back into the compound but Peter hadn’t expected it to have happened already, being fairly certain that Mr. Stark would have told him. Had he known, he surely wouldn’t have gone down to the communal kitchen in his _pajamas._

                It was probably Ms. Potts’ fault a little too, for forbidding Peter’s junk food in the kitchen upstairs because she didn’t want Mr. Stark eating it all when Peter wasn’t there, but Ms. Potts both terrified and awed Peter and he wasn’t brave enough to blame her for anything. So he blamed Mr. Stark for his current predicament. Blaming Mr. Stark was always a safe bet.

                “Who are you?” Ms. Romanov’s voice was quiet but firm and Peter couldn’t help but notice the way her grip tightened ever so slightly on her knife.

                He had just wanted to grab some cereal before he called Ned for their makeshift breakfast date. Just wanted a breakfast of brightly colored, artificially flavored sugary-sweet goodness. He hadn’t asked for this mess. Why did the universe _hate_ him?

                “Me?” His voice squeaked despite himself and Peter felt himself flush even redder. As Spider-Man, he had spoken just fine with the Avengers – he had _fought_ some of them – but that didn’t seem to register with his body now, as he had to force himself not to flinch away from the assassin. “Um…” Peter tried to think quickly. “Nobody!” He answered finally, inwardly wincing at the stupidity of his response.

                Ms. Romanov’s eyebrows arched up slightly, the only hint that she was reacting to his words at all. “Nobody?” She echoed, voice flat and unimpressed. At least she seemed to have slightly loosened her grip on her knife. Peter would take the Black Widow thinking he was an idiot over trying to stab him any day. He nodded at her, feeling a bit like a bobble-head.

“That’s right - nobody at all! So, I’m just gonna –“ Peter motioned vaguely at the staircase, spilling cereal all over the floor. Rather than letting him leave – which, admittedly, even Peter knew was a long shot – the Black Widow took a step closer to Peter, fingers still loosely clutching the blade. Peter instinctively took a step back, his spider sense screaming at him angrily, and tried to hide his wince as he hit the still open fridge hard enough to rattle it.

“Who are you, really? How did you get in here?” Ms. Romanov’s voice was all steel. Peter gulped. He didn’t know if Mr. Stark had informed the Avengers about him at all, yet, but he had to tell the woman something before she decided to play ‘Pin the Blade in the Intern’. Mr. Stark would be really, really angry if Peter ended up bleeding all over his expensive floor.

“I’m-“

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Peter jumped – a bit higher than the average person, a fact that the Black Widow had hopefully missed – as Ms. Potts’ voice, clear and very near a volume Peter could only nicely refer to as ‘shrill’, rang out. Immediately, Ms. Romanov’s gaze tore itself from Peter as she turned to look where the voice had come from. Peter took his chance to step away from the open fridge and finally close the door before he also turned his attention towards the far end of the large open room, where Ms. Potts was standing by the large double doors that hid the Avengers’ private quarters from the Shield half of the compound.

Pepper Potts was, on her best days, a powerhouse of a human whose immaculate appearance and strong personality frequently awed Peter. Now, seeing her in her usual impeccable outfit, hands on her hips as she glared down at him and the assassin he’d been cornered by, she was downright terrifying. Peter could understand fully, in that moment, how she had become one of the youngest female CEOs in the United States and how she had kept that position through all the turmoil Mr. Stark had put the company through.

He had never, _ever_ wanted to be on her bad side. 

“Peter, come here. _Now.”_ And yet, here he was, being angrily called to her side. The universe _really_ did hate him. Peter kept his head down slightly as he scurried past the Black Widow to stand next to Ms. Potts, praying silently to whatever part of the universe listening that Mr. Stark wouldn’t hear about this. He really would never live it down if the older man found out that his fiancée had given Peter a lecture before it was even noon.

Peter braced himself for Ms. Potts’ lecture, trying to put his most contrite face on as he stared at the floor. It worked with May sometimes, so hopefully it would soften Ms. Potts some.

The lecture didn’t come. Peter waited another moment before he glanced up at Ms. Potts. She wasn’t even looking at him, to his surprise, but at Ms. Romanov, still standing in  the kitchen. Peter was confused, watching the two women stare each other down. Why wasn’t Ms. Potts lecturing him for making a mess in the kitchen? Why wasn’t Ms. Romanov demanding to know what a scrawny teenager was doing in the compound? More importantly, _why_ was Peter still standing here if he could sneak away while the adults were distracted?

Just as he began to very slowly inch away, Ms. Potts broke the silence and suddenly Peter didn’t want to go anywhere. “Not that it is _any_ of your business, but this is Peter Parker, Tony’s intern. He stays here sometimes on the weekend for work. Don’t _ever_ pull a knife on him again.” Peter had seen Ms. Potts annoyed before – once or twice at the New York Stark Industries office when the press had gotten word of Peter’s existence and barraged her office with questions and once when she had come to the compound after a day of work and found out that Peter and Mr. Stark had forgotten to eat anything because they were too busy in the lab. Her tone now, however, was different from the cold indifference she had shown the press and the almost fond annoyance she had when dealing with Mr. Stark. This seemed much closer to downright fury.

All for Peter’s sake.

He was torn between being touched that Ms. Potts cared for his safety and wanting to bury himself in a hole and never come back up to avoid the sheer awkwardness that all of this would cause. Mr. Stark was going to have a field day with it, after he yelled at Peter for being caught by the Black Widow. Peter’s day was shaping up to be quite mortifying.

Ms. Romanov, probably due to her years of hostile experience, hardly seemed perturbed by Ms. Potts’ anger. “Since when did Tony start hiring middle schoolers?” Had Peter not had a healthy fear of the Black Widow, he would have been offended. He knew he was on the young-looking side, but he at least looked _fourteen._

“Since when has Tony or Stark Industries been your concern? Except when you were spying on it or needed something from Iron Man, that is?” _Ouch_. The tone in Ms. Potts’ voice was acidic. Peter really wanted to just disappear – this seemed to suddenly sound rather personal – but he was a little afraid of turning his back on either woman. At least without explicit permission. He really, _really_ didn’t want Ms. Potts to turn that anger on him.

Ms. Romanov, to her credit, seemed hardly fazed by the other woman’s venomous tone. “That’s not what I meant, Pepper.” Her voice was calm, still, and Peter noticed that the knife in her hand quickly disappeared. Peter had no idea where it had gone and he was pretty sure he never wanted to find out. “I was just surprised by the kid. Didn’t expect anyone else to be here.” Her tone was soft, almost comforting – Peter wondered if that was the tone she had used to calm Dr. Banner before the man had disappeared.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t show up two days _before_ scheduled, you wouldn’t be surprised.” Peter couldn’t help but notice that Ms. Potts didn’t add the fact that Peter wouldn’t be in the compound in two days’ time to surprise the other woman. Mr. Stark -  and Ms. Potts too, from the sounds of it - must have planned it so that none of the Avengers would be moving in while Peter spent the weekend. Maybe they would blame Ms. Romanov, then, and Peter would be off the hook. He shifted his weight slightly, musing the probability on him getting out of this without a lecture, and suddenly froze when the Black Widow’s gaze immediately shifted back to him.

She wasn’t glaring anymore, at least, but there was something inexplicably terrifying in having that gaze turned on Peter. He resisted the urge to fidget under her gaze, feeling suddenly, inexplicably guilty about thinking of her taking all the blame. As she continued staring at him, Peter felt his face flush. He was very rarely under such scrutiny from adults he didn’t know and now that she wasn’t actively looking like she would gut him, he couldn’t help but think that she was rather pretty. In a terrible, could-kill-a-man-with-a-single-stare, kind of way.  Or MJ-pretty, as he and Ned privately referred to it.

                Ms. Romanov’s eyes narrowed slightly as Peter’s face flushed even darker. It was definitely _not_ the time to be reflecting on the attractiveness of the assassin in front of him. Peter really, really hoped that the older woman couldn’t read his thoughts from his face as Mr. Stark and May both claimed they could do. He was pretty sure he would die on the spot – from the sheer embarrassment alone - if she could. If she didn’t kill him first, anyway.

                Before Ms. Romanov could say or do anything to Peter, Ms. Potts stepped in. “Peter, why don’t you go back upstairs? So me and Ms. Romanov can speak in private.” She posed it as a question, but Peter could hear the command clearly and he nearly sighed aloud in relief at the out she gave him. He was really going to owe her for saving him. He turned to leave before realizing that he still held the cartoon of milk and now half-spilt bowl of cereal in his hands. Blushing even darker, he turned back around.

                “I just…um….” Apparently, he had lost all ability to speak. Feeling rather like a tomato, he gestured vaguely towards the refrigerator with the milk. Ms. Romanov remained impassive but Ms. Potts raised a single eyebrow.

                “There’s a fridge upstairs, Peter.” She told him, a forced kind of patience in her voice. Peter recognized that tone as the one May used when Peter did something she found particularly ridiculous but was trying not to be annoyed with him. He flushed darkly.

                “Right. Yeah. I’ll just – put it there.” He should have just gone upstairs. He might have salvaged some pride had he just kept his mouth shut and scampered up the stairs. But once Peter regained his voice, it was nearly impossible to keep it quiet. A fault that would probably get him stabbed one day. Or today, if he continued pressing his luck with the assassin in front of him. “It was nice – well not _nice_ , I guess, because that knife was really scary – not that I blame you or anything, since you didn’t know I existed until I was standing in your kitchen –“

                “Peter.” How Ms. Potts had mastered the same tones as his aunt used against him, Peter didn’t want to know. But he immediately stopped talking. “Upstairs, remember?” She prodded and Peter bobbed his head in agreement.

                “Yes! Upstairs. I’m just gonna – go now.” Peter’s face was burning. “It was nice to meet you Ms. Black Wid-err- Romanov,  ma’am!” He couldn’t help but say, turning as he spoke so he wouldn’t have to see Ms. Potts undoubtedly exasperated face or whatever expression Ms. Romanov was sporting. He darted up the stairs as quickly as he dared before pausing in the shadows of the landing.

                “No eavesdropping!” Ms. Potts’ voice called out to him and Peter startled. He hadn’t even thought of eavesdropping – hadn’t had enough time to recover from the mortification of rambling in front of the _Black Widow_ like an idiot for it to cross his mind – but his cheeks still burned with a bit of guilt as he quickly continued past the landing and onto the second staircase that led up to Ms. Potts’s and Mr. Stark’s private suite.

                Peter tried not to panic as he made his way into the kitchen to put the milk in the refrigerator. The compound was designed with enhanced abilities in mind so that, even with his super hearing, he could hear none of the conversation that was undoubtedly happening between Ms. Potts and Ms. Romanov at that moment. It was quiet enough that Peter could almost convince himself that he was alone.

                “Oh my God. Oh my _God._ ” He began whispering to himself as he set his now-undesirable bowl of cereal on the counter with slightly shaking hands. He couldn’t believe that had just happened. He had just met an Avenger.

                He had just met the _Black Widow._ The excitement he normally would have felt at one of his childhood dream’s coming true was marred by the sheer embarrassment he felt at how badly he’d handled the situation. She probably thought he was just some idiot child, now. He would never be able to reveal his identity to the other Avengers, now, even if he wanted to.

                The Black Widow could never know. He would _die_ before letting her know that Spider-Man was an idiot high schooler who didn’t know how to talk to people. The secret would have to go to the grave with him.

                Feeling overly warm and shaky,  Peter made his way into the bedroom Mr. Stark had set aside for his use and shut the door behind him. He needed someone to talk to before he went into full panic mode. Someone who would understand the conflicting emotions Peter was currently feeling at having met one of his idols and subsequently embarrassing himself. Someone who would be sympathetic to his plight.

                In hindsight, Ned was probably not the right person. But his was the first number on his most recent calls and he hit it without truly thinking.

                Ned answered on the second ring. Peter hadn’t realized he had hit video call, but Ned’s face popped on his screen, grinning widely as he held up his bowl of cereal. Peter had completely forgotten they had planned to have a breakfast date of sorts. “Good morning! What took you so long?” Ned’s voice was overly cheerful, both for the early morning hour and Peter’s current mood.

                “Oh my God, Ned.” Peter said, completely ignoring Ned’s words as he slid to sit on his floor, his back pressed against his door. Ned’s whole demeanor changed immediately, sensing Peter’s mood. 

                “Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Do I need to call Mr. Stark?” Ned had been given Mr. Stark’s number after the whole Vulture fiasco with the express demand that he would not use it unless Peter was in trouble. So far, Ned had never had to call the number. Peter shook his head quickly. He _really_ didn’t need Mr. Stark hearing about this. Ever, if possible.

                “I’m fine. I just –“ Peter struggled for a moment to put his thoughts into words. The whole situation had quickly turned into a jumbled mess of fear and embarrassment and it took several seconds to put it all together in a way that made any sense. It didn’t help that Peter, now that he was on the phone, really didn’t want to relive the experience. But Ned was looking at him through his cracked phone screen, worry etched clearly on his face, and Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to just let it go. He took a deep breath and decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. “ImettheBlackWidowandshemaybesortatriedtokillmeandIactedlikeatotalidiot.” Perhaps he should have said it more slowly.

                Ned blinked for a moment. Then he blinked again and Peter feared he would have to repeat himself. Then Ned burst into laughter. Peter’s face flushed darkly. “It’s not funny!” He groaned, dropping his head against the door with a little thud. “She had a giant knife, man! And I was in my pajamas.” He probably shouldn’t have added that, as it just made Ned laugh harder. “I could have _died_!” He tried, speaking slightly louder so that he could be heard over Ned’s laughter.

                “Yeah, but you didn’t.” Ned replied, finally coming down from his laughter fit. Peter stuck his tongue out at him in response. He should have realized Ned wouldn’t have been sympathetic. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” Ned added, shooting Peter a sheepish smile. He didn’t sound all that apologetic but Peter felt himself softening anyway. He really was too easy. “Tell me what happened and I promise I won’t laugh.” Peter scrunched his face at him.

                “Liar.” He accused as he slid further down until he was basically lying on the floor, holding his phone above him so he could still clearly see Ned. Already, he felt calmer and he had to fight to keep a fond smile off his face as Ned gave him his most innocent smile. Ned may not have been the most sympathetic person, but he always managed to sooth Peter’s frayed nerves.

                “I won’t! Scout’s honor!” Peter made a show of theatrically rolling his eyes.

                “You were never a Boy Scout.” He reminded his boyfriend. “You were afraid of camping.”

                “I wasn’t _afraid_ , I thought it was gross. Why would I go out and willingly live in the _dirt_?” Ned made an exaggerated gagging expression and Peter couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I promise I will _try_ not to laugh.” He added, sending Peter his best puppy-eye expression. Peter’s resolve crumbled.

                “Fine, but you can’t tell _anybody_ else. I will die from embarrassment.” It wasn’t even an exaggeration, Peter was sure. He could already feel his cheeks reddening as he remembered the whole incident.

                “Who am I gonna tell? Now get on with it.” Peter made a show of rolling his eyes once more but obediently launched into his story.

                “Well, I went downstairs to get my cereal since Ms. Potts doesn’t want sugary stuff where Mr. Stark can get it and then I went to get the milk –“

                “Wait, why do you have to keep milk downstairs?” Ned interrupted. He was always asking questions about how the Compound was run and what Mr. Stark was really like, so Peter wasn’t surprised. If he was lucky, Ned was interrupt with enough questions that he completely forgot what the original story was supposed to be about.

                “Ms. Potts is lactose intolerant. I thought it’d be rude to keep something she can’t have in her own fridge.” Peter didn’t add that it was also a lot easier to sneak a bowl of midnight cereal or two when all the components were in the same place. Ms. Potts, much like Aunt May, was sympathetic to Peter’s high metabolism and even higher appetite but was also fairly strict about what she thought was appropriate late-night snacks for a teenage boy. Foods that were mostly sugar were not on either of their lists but there was only so many bowls of fruits and vegetables that Peter could tolerate before he needed junk food. But he wouldn’t admit that aloud in a place where F.R.I.D.A.Y. could hear and relay it back to Ms. Potts.

                “That’s nice of you. So what happened when you went to get the milk?”

                “Well, right after I grabbed the milk my spider sense started going off. At first, I thought the milk might have gone bad –“

                “Seriously? _That’s_ the first thing that came to your mind?” Ned was hiding an amused smile, Peter could tell, and there was a bit of laughter in his voice. Peter’s cheeks darkened some.

                “You said you wouldn’t laugh!” Peter accused before continuing. “It’s gone off on some ridiculous things before and I wasn’t exactly expecting a _trained_ _assassin_ to be standing behind me as I made a bowl of Captain Crunch.” Ned tilted his head in concession. “Anyway, I thought it was about the milk but it got sharper like it does when someone is about to attack me so I turned around and the freaking _Black Widow_ was standing by the dining room table, staring at me with a real big knife in her hand. She didn’t say anything, at first, and I didn’t either because I was freaking out but th-”

                “Hold on, hold on.” Ned put his hand up in a time out gesture. “You can’t just skip to the conversation part. You got to give me more detail, paint a picture! I have to feel like I was there with you.” Peter was pretty sure Ned was just messing with him. He scrunched his face at his boyfriend.

                “Why would I do that? What do you even want me to add?”

                “Was it dark or light? Was she hiding in the shadows? How big was the knife? What was she wearing? What were _you_ wearing?” Peter was absolutely sure Ned was messing with him now, especially judging by the grin his boyfriend wore as he asked his last question. He flushed despite himself.

                “I hardly see why _any_ of that is relevant to the story.”

                “Everything is relevant! Peter, it’s for _science.”_

                “It _is_ not.” Peter grumbled in response but he lifted up his phone and pointed it down so Ned could take in the sight of the worn Star Wars sweater and the Hello Kitty bottoms he was wearing. They had an unspoken agreement, Peter and Ned, that if one of them ever said something was for science, the other had to do it. Peter wasn’t about to break that agreement just because Ned was misusing it. “I was wearing this, unfortunately. She was in normal clothes, the knife was huge, and she was just standing in the room, it’s not like she was lurking in wait for -” Peter began answering all the questions in quick succession, oblivious to the fact that Ned was hardly paying attention and was instead staring at Peter’s sweater.

                “Is that my sweater that you _swore_ I didn’t leave at your apartment?” Ned interrupted and Peter stopped midsentence. He’d forgotten he was wearing Ned’s stolen sweater.

                “…No?” He tried after a moment’s pause, trying to fix his most innocent expression onto his face. Ned glared at him.

                “Dude! I’ve been looking for like, three days!” Peter flushed slightly, fidgeting with the sleeve of the overlarge sweater with his free hand. Ned had left the sweater behind when they had watched _How I Met Your Mother_ together. Peter had meant to give it back to him – he really had – but then May and Mr. Stark had surprised him with the impromptu, forced visit to the Compound and Peter had been a little sad that he would have to cancel their Saturday date and the sweater had been sitting in the living room, smelling like his boyfriend. Peter had packed into his bag without even thinking about it.

                “I know, I’m sorry! I just –“ Peter’s blush darkened. “It reminds me of you.” He admitted, a little quietly. Ned’s annoyed expression softened almost immediately as his own cheeks darkened slightly.

                “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” Ned tried and failed to keep an annoyed tone in his voice. “And I miss you too.” He added and Peter couldn’t help but smile. “Now tell me the rest of your story. Did she try to stab you? I’m going to be so mad if there’s a hole in my sweater.”

                “She did not try to stab me but thanks for the concern. She was just standing there and I wasn’t sure what to do – I mean, she’s an _Avenger_ – or former Avenger, I’m not actually sure how the Accords work on that part – and I couldn’t exactly be like, ‘hey, how you’re doing? It’s been awhile’ because she doesn’t _know_ I’m Spider-Man. And I couldn’t exactly tell her that, either, so I just kind of stood there for a minute and then I said, well.” Peter paused, a flush blooming on his face as he remembered exactly what had come out of his mouth.

                “You totally said something stupid, didn’t you?” Ned was grinning, which Peter thought was unfair. His boyfriend was supposed to be on _his_ side.

                “I did no such thing! I said something that was completely reasonable, given the situation!” Peter defended himself. Ned’s grin grew.

                “You said ‘hi’ didn’t you?” Peter was pretty sure his face was going to be permanently red now.

                “What else could I have said?” He asked, covering his face with one hand so Ned couldn’t see him. Unfortunately, his hand didn’t prevent him from hearing Ned’s laugh as the other boy’s resolve broke. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” Peter accused loudly, his voice muffled by his hand.

                “I promised I’d _try.”_ Ned corrected, voice still warm with laughter. Peter knew without peeking from under his fingers that Ned was smiling but he didn’t bother to look. Ned’s smile always had a way of softening him up and he wanted to stay annoyed. “You have to admit that it’s kind of funny. Who says ‘hi’ to someone with a knife, anyway?” Peter huffed loudly enough that it could be discerned from under his hand.

                “I’m sorry, I was raised to be _polite.”_ Peter clearly heard Ned scoff and knew that he was most likely rolling his eyes. He still didn’t bother to look.

                “Yeah, by who? Cause I know you aren’t talking about May. I once saw her put the fear of God into a construction worker for whistling at her.” Peter remembered that day. May had been taking the boys to meet Ben at their favorite ice cream parlor as a treat when some lumbering construction worker had leered at her. It had been the first time Peter and Ned had ever seen his aunt truly angry and it had been so terrifying that Peter, who in his innocent 8-year-old mind had simply thought May _really_ hated whistling, hadn’t tried whistling for an entire year. He still wasn’t very good at it.

                “That’s completely different! May’s always polite when someone isn’t a jerk!” Peter retorted, instinctively defending his aunt.

                “I’m pretty sure someone pulling a knife on you counts as a time you can call them a jerk, Peter.”

                Ned had a point there. But Peter wasn’t about to admit that. “It wasn’t stupid.” He insisted, not bothering to hide the grumpy tone in his voice. He still didn’t try to remove his hand from his face.

                There was silence for a moment as Ned waited for Peter to look at him so they could continue their conversation and Peter pointedly refused to remove his hand from his face. It was a contest of wills, really, to see which boy would cave first. Unfortunately for Ned, Peter was born stubborn and Ned was born without patience.

                It only took a few minutes for the boy to crack.

                “Peettterr,” Ned whined slightly. “Take your hand off your face.”

                “Nope.” Peter popped the p at the end, knowing it would annoy Ned. He wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

                “Peeettttteeerrrrr,” Ned tried again. “I want to see you.”

                “Nuh-uh. You laughed at me.” Peter responded, smiling slightly under his hand. His annoyance at the other boy had all but disappeared when he had started whining but he would never pass up a chance to mess with Ned. Especially when the other boy deserved it for making fun of him.

                “I won’t anymore.” Ned bargained.

                “That sounds a lot like what you said last time.” Peter shot back. He heard Ned groan slightly and his smile grew. He would drop the hand soon, before Ned got actually upset, but for now it was too tempting to keep the upper hand. It happened rarely enough when the boys teased each other.

                Of course, Peter should have remembered that Ned didn’t play fair.

                “Babe, please?” Peter’s cheeks reddened as he took in Ned’s words, his hand slipping from his face in surprise. Ned sometimes still called him ‘bro’ when they were joking around, ‘Petey’ when he was trying to annoy Peter, and ‘Spidey’ when Peter was wearing the suit around him. But he had _never_ , not once called Peter by any other pet name and certainly never well, _that._

Peter had to admit that it made him feel warm in a not entirely unpleasant way even if he was mad that he had let the other boy win that easily.

                Ned was grinning smugly as Peter stared at him, not bothering to place his hand back over his face. He hated it a little bit. Except not really, because the pet name was still playing in the back of his mind and he couldn’t help but think of what he could to do to get Ned to call him that again.

                Not that he was going to admit that the other boy had gotten him that easily.

                “I thought that would work.” Ned told him cheerfully and Peter’s flush darkened. His cheeks were definitely permanently stained at this point, he was absolutely sure.

                “Did you seriously call me that to win a game?” Peter was tempted to hide his face again out of sheer spite. But then he would miss the adorable smile that was spread across Ned’s face and he didn’t see any reason to deny himself the view just because it belonged to a total _jerk_.

                “I mean, yeah. But I kind of  like it.” An involuntary shiver ran up Peter’s spine at the teasing tone in Ned’s voice. “Babe.” Ned said again, his smile turning mischievous and Peter tried to pretend that it didn’t affect him, even as his flush spread to his ears. It was simply unfair how devilish Ned made the word sound. And it was ridiculous how much Peter enjoyed it.

                “I… would not be opposed.” Peter said finally, knowing that, despite Ned’s teasing tone, the other boy would not continue using the term if Peter didn’t give him permission. “if you wanted to keep using it,” he clarified, ducking his head slightly. Even if it was Ned, he still felt a little shy admitting things like that.

                Still looking down, Peter missed the way Ned’s smile grew, all the mischievous edges softening with fondness. “Babe.” Ned repeated quietly, a slight hesitancy in his voice as if, now that he wasn’t using it to throw Peter off, he needed to test it. Peter barely repressed the light shiver that ran down his spine. It felt almost as if Ned was running his fingers down his back, feather light and tantalizingly slow – the way he sometimes did when the boys were at Peter’s apartment and May was out.

                Peter really regretted going to the Compound now. 

                “Yeah.” Ned said, voice still soft as Peter looked back up at his phone to see the other boy. “I’m going to enjoy this one.” Peter hid his emotions by rolling his eyes. Ned may have been obnoxiously good at working Peter up, but he was also talented at destroying the entire mood.

                “Don’t make me regret saying you can call me it.” Peter warned him, pushing himself up from the floor so that he was sitting against the door once more.

                “Yeah, sure, _babe._ ” Peter was already regretting it. Except, not really. Because the little word still managed to send a spark through Peter’s veins, even though it was no longer a surprise. Or maybe that was just Ned.

                “Do you even want me to finish the story?” Peter quickly changed the subject, shifting slightly against the door until he was comfortable. He didn’t really want to share anymore of the story – especially because there was no way Ned wasn’t going to laugh more, promise be damned – but he also really didn’t want Ned to continue teasing Peter. At least not now, when there were miles between them. The teasing was always more bearable when Peter could lean over and shut Ned up with a simple touch of their lips. Or two.

                Ned’s eyes brightened at the reminder of the story. “Yes! Please, yes. I need more Black Widow in my life.”

                “You don’t have _any_ Black Widow in your life.” Peter reminded him. “And I don’t think you’d want to, if all it meant was getting a knife pulled on you before 10 in the morning.” He added.

                “I may not have any Black Widow in my life, but you definitely do and as I’m both your best friend _and_ your boyfriend, that basically means Black Widow is in my life, too. By proxy. And besides, you get knives pulled on you all the time, it’s not like it’s anything new.” Peter wondered if he could convince Mr. Stark to help him install Karen into his cellphone to record Ned. That way he could replay the boy’s last statement whenever he freaked out at every little scratch Peter got as Spider-Man.

                “ _Spider-Man_ gets knives pulled on him all the time, always _after_ 10 in the morning.” Peter corrected. “ _Peter Parker_ has never except when the _Black Freaking Widow_ pulled one on him when he was trying to make breakfast. And that is not something I want to happen to you. Or me, again, for that matter.” Ned made a face at him.

                “Fine, fine. You have a point. But I still want to hear the rest of the story!” It was Peter’s turn to make a face then, but he obediently launched back into the story.

                “Well, we were just standing there for a minute or so, she armed with her very sharp knife and me with my less dangerous but still terrifying possibly expired milk and then, and to break the silence, I said, _completely_ reasonably, ‘hi’.” Ned covered his laugh with a light cough and Peter paused to glare at him through the screen. “Then she asked me who I was -”

                “Which is much more reasonable.” He heard Ned mumble and he glared at the boy again, raising a single finger in warning.

                “Boy, you’re on thin ice.” He said, giving his best impression of Mrs. Leeds, minus her soft accent. He nearly laughed aloud when Ned sat up straighter, looking slightly guilty. He let the silence drag on for a moment, making Ned feel good and properly chastised before he continued his tale. “I panicked when she asked me who I was – Mr. Stark didn’t want me to meet the Avengers yet, y’know?” Peter was feeling embarrassed again, as he remembered what he had called himself. “So I said I was nobody and asked if I could go-“ He tried to get it out quickly, he really did. But Ned seemed to have quickly forgotten that he was supposed to be feeling guilty, as he interrupted yet again.

                “You told a trained assassin who had a _knife_ , while you stood in _their_ home, that you were nobody and asked to go? Seriously? Were you _trying_ to get stabbed?” For the first time since Peter had reassured Ned that he was fine, there was a hint of worry in Ned’s tone. It was mixed in with a good amount of consternation, as if Ned couldn’t believe Peter could be quite that stupid. In all fairness, Ned had known Peter for years, he should have known that his mouth had no limit to the amount of stupidity that could come out when he was nervous.

                “Not my finest moment,” Peter admitted, deciding not to make a joke about him and his mouth. “She asked me who I was again,” he continued, “but Ms. Potts barged in and that’s when it got weird.”

                “It wasn’t weird before then?” Ned’s tone was incredulous as he stared at Peter with wide brown eyes. Peter just shrugged.

                “This was next level weird. Ms. Potts made me go to her and I thought she was going to yell at me for running into the Black Widow before Mr. Stark could officially introduce me to the Avengers but she didn’t. She just told the Black Widow who I was – I mean, not who I _really_ am, of course, but the official story about being Mr. Stark’s personal intern – and she was like _crazy_ mad. Like, the Black Widow asked since when did Mr. Stark hire middle schoolers – which was rude, but fair – and Ms. Potts asked her since when did she care about Stark Industries except to spy or get something from Mr. Stark.”

                “Oh shit,” Ned responded, eyes widened in surprise. He had never met Ms. Potts but Peter had spoken a lot about her, always positively, and he was caught off guard just as much as Peter had been by her anger. Peter nodded emphatically.

                “Yeah, man. It seemed like super personal but I couldn’t just leave because I didn’t want to draw their attention back to me, so I just kind of awkwardly stood there. The Black Widow tried to calm Ms. Potts down by saying she was just surprised but Ms. Potts told her that wouldn’t have happened if she had come when she was supposed to, which means I definitely was not supposed to see her while I was here – Mr. Stark is probably going to be super mad at me,” Peter added, his face scrunching. He really didn’t want to see Mr. Stark’s disappointed or angry face later on, when Ms. Potts told him what had happened.

                “It’s not like its your fault, Peter. If the Black Widow wasn’t supposed to be there, there was no way to prepare you for her. I mean, please never ever tell her that I said this because getting stabbed is not on my bucket list, but she really shouldn’t have just moved into the Compound without telling Mr. Stark or Ms. Potts that she was there. That’s not super cool.” Ned had a point, Peter knew, but that didn’t stop him from being worried. Mr. Stark may see the merit in that, but he doubted the other man was going to jeopardize what he was trying to do with the Rogues and blame Ms. Romanov for the incident. Even if Ms. Potts seemed to have no trouble doing it.

                Rather than think about the impending lecture, Peter decided to try for some humor. “Even if that’s true, I’d never say it. I swear, the Black Widow can read minds or something because the moment I thought about blaming her for the whole thing, she looked straight at me.” Peter decided not to include the part about thinking she was pretty; he didn’t need to reveal anything else that would get Ned to laugh at him. “I think she may have started interrogating me again but Ms. Potts told me I should go upstairs, so I left.” Peter briefly considered telling Ned about the mortifying “it was nice to meet you” speech he gave before decisively throwing it into the same corner as thinking Natasha Romanov was pretty.

                “You just left?” There was disbelief written on Ned’s face. Peter should have known it wouldn’t work – Ned knew him way to well to believe that Peter would have ever leave a situation like that quietly, but Peter was too stubborn to let the façade die. Instead, he put on his most innocent face and shrugged his shoulders.

                “Yeah, I just left. Ran upstairs and called you, freaking out.”

                “Liar.” Ned declared. Peter adopted a hurt look.

                “I am not!”

                “Are so!”

                “Am not!”

                “Are so!”

                They were being childish, Peter knew. If they had been at his apartment, May would already have begun hushing them, like she had when they were excitable elementary schoolers debating who the best member of the Golden Trio was. He found he didn’t really care to stop it. “Am not!”

                “Are so! Your pants are on _fire!”_ Ned accused loudly, and Peter could hear the laughter in his voice even as Ned, faking anger, pointed at him accusingly.

                Peter decided to let the game die. “Alright, fine. I told the Black Widow it was nice to meet her, except not really because her knife was scary and then I rambled until Ms. Potts reminded me to go upstairs.” Ned’s warm laugh was almost worth the humiliation of the memory. Almost. He even nearly forgot to be annoyed that Ned had broken his promise. Again.

                “Then you came upstairs and called me?” Ned surmised, once his laughter had faded out. Peter nodded. There was quiet then, that stretched for a minute or two as both boys contemplated how the morning had been. “What _even_ is your life?” Ned finally broke the silence, a bit of awe in his voice.

                “I don’t even know, man.” Peter responded, a bit of awe in his own voice because, despite the sheer and _utter_ embarrassment, he had still been lucky enough to meet his third favorite Avenger, as Peter Parker rather than Spider-Man. It was an amazing yet mortifying experience. “I still would have rather been back in the city with you. Meeting Natasha Romanov has got nothing on a weekend with you.” Peter couldn’t help but say, a small smile on his face

                “You’re too sweet.” Ned replied, “I’d have rather met the Black Widow.” He added honestly. Peter laughed in response, not at all surprised at Ned’s words.

                “If she hadn’t had the knife, I’d agree with you.” Peter revealed, once his laughter had calmed down. “I guess I should have clarified that hanging out with you is better than getting a knife pulled on me during breakfast.” He grinned cheekily as he teased the other boy.

                “Aww, _babe_. It’s sweet things like that that keep me going these long days without you!” Ned beamed at him. Peter laughed even as he flushed pleasantly at the pet name.

                He was going to reply – a teasing retort already on his lips – when he was interrupted by a firm knock on his door. Even though his spider-sense wasn’t blazing, Peter’s immediate thought was that the Black Widow had somehow escaped from Ms. Potts’ wrath and had come to find him. Without thinking, he flipped himself up and spun towards the door, cellphone still in hand as he stared at the door.

                “Peter?” Mr. Stark’s voice called out and Peter barely contained a sigh of relief as he slumped his shoulders. It was silly to think that Ms. Romanov was going to come after him, anyway. He was, at least to her knowledge, just a fifteen-year-old intern after all. “I know you’re in there.” Mr. Stark’s voice came through the door again. He didn’t sound particularly annoyed at him, which was a good sign. The use of his actual name, however, was not.

                “Peter? What’s going on?” He had almost forgotten Ned was still on the phone. He could probably hear enough to know that something was happening, but not what was going on. Peter lifted his phone back up to his face so that he could see Ned once more. The other boy looked mildly alarmed and Peter was pretty sure the slightly panicked look on his own face was probably not helping.

                “Mr. Stark wants to talk, I gotta go.” Peter whispered quickly. “I’ll tell you about it later.” He added. He ended the call before Ned could respond and he tossed his phone down onto his unmade bed with a twinge of guilt. He’d apologize later.

                “I’m coming!” Peter called as Mr. Stark began knocking again. He hastily tried to straighten out his hair, which was still a wild mess of sleep-swept curls, as he rushed to open the door. Mr. Stark may not have sounded annoyed quite yet but Peter didn’t want to give him reason for that to change. He threw open the door and was greeted by the sight of Mr. Stark, impeccably dressed in a dark, subtly striped suit, poised mid knock. “Sorry,” Peter rushed to say. “I was on the phone with Ned.” He explained as he stood aside to allow Mr. Stark into the room. “I uh- haven’t cleaned up yet.” He added as Mr. Stark stepped in. The room wasn’t quite messy – at least not like his room back home – but the bed was unmade, there was a messy mix of project blueprints and school notes strewn across the desk, and his clothes hadn’t quite made it to the hamper in the corner.

                “I’m not really here to judge you about your room, kid. That’s more Pepper’s thing.” Mr. Stark responded, his tone carefully neutral as he took a hesitant seat on the corner of the bed. “Sit down.” He added and Peter scrambled to sit in the desk chair. He tried not to look like he was too nervous as he sat down, back ramrod straight and hands folded tightly in his hands. It was the way Uncle Ben used to make him sit, when Peter was on time-out, and old habits died hard. He was pretty sure he was about to get the lecture of his life.

                Mr. Stark was taking his time to start speaking, just quietly observing Peter with sharp eyes – never a good sign in Peter’s experience – and Peter tried not to shrink into the chair under the older man’s gaze. It took half a moment for Mr. Stark to begin speaking and Peter braced himself for a scolding, “So, I’m sure your wondering what I’m doing, wearing such a nice suit when it’s not even ten o’clock, yet.” This conversation wasn’t starting the way Peter expected but he stayed silent, figuring Mr. Stark was taking his time to get to the yelling part. “Well, Pepper – sweet, sweet Pepper – scheduled a meeting for me this morning that I forgot all about when May asked me to babysit you for the weekend-” Peter barely restrained himself from retorting that it wasn’t _babysitting_ , but he had learned his lesson long enough not to interrupt Mr. Stark when he was in a mood. It was a close call though.

                “So I had to get all dressed up, which I did because Pep would have killed me if I hadn’t, and I left a note with F.R.I.D.A.Y. to tell you I’d be back by noon but to go ahead and get started in the lab after you’d eaten breakfast. And then I left thinking that there was no way you’d get into any trouble, locked away in one of the most secure buildings in the world but then, halfway through the meeting, I get the strangest alert on my phone from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that you were in danger.” Peter cringed at the would-be casual tone in Mr. Stark’s voice and he couldn’t help but jump in, leaning forward so far he nearly fell from his desk chair.

                “I’m so, so sorry Mr. Stark! Had I known Ms. Romanov was here, I wouldn’t have gone down to the communal kitch-“

                “Hold up, hold up.” The older man interrupted, raising a single, flat hand up. Peter immediately stopped talking. “Kid, I’m trying to apologize to _you.”_ Peter blinked. Then he blinked again, absorbing Mr. Stark’s words with a fair bit of confusion. He had no idea what Mr. Stark had to apologize for. Mr. Stark must have read the confusion on his face because he sighed, just a tad theatrically, and began speaking again. “I should have told the others about you. I mean, I didn’t think any of the them would be here this weekend but I should have factored in the fact that not a single one of them is capable of doing what they are told.” There was a hint of annoyance in his tone then, so Peter remained silent even though he was itching to tell the older engineer that none of it was his fault.

                “Pepper called and told me what had happened, after she finished wringing Nat out, anyway. Haven’t heard her that mad in a while.” Mr. Stark looked a little wistful at that, Peter tried not to think too hard about why. “By then I had already flown halfway back, so I just continued on back so I could get to you. I didn’t want you freaking out or thinking that what happened was in any way your fault.” There was a bit of wryness in his tone then and Peter dropped his gaze back to his hands, feeling a little ashamed and plenty embarrassed.

                “It is kind of my fault.” He told his hands. “I should’ve just made a smoothie or something instead of going down to the communal fridge. And then I froze when I saw her, which probably didn’t help the whole guilty look I had going.” He admitted quietly. He was still adamantly staring at his hands and barely noticed when Mr. Stark stood. He jumped slightly when Mr. Stark placed a hand on his shoulder.

                “You got a knife pulled on you while you were supposed to be safe in _my_ house. In no scenario would that be your fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine for not telling the others you were going to be here. And Nat’s, too. For threatening a child.” There was an odd tone in Mr. Stark’s voice, when he said Ms. Romanov’s name, that made Peter wonder how much reconciliation there had been between the two. She must have felt comfortable enough to be the first one back in the compound but Ms. Pott’s reaction to her had been far from pleasant. Peter had no idea what Mr. Stark felt towards the former assassin currently, but he could tell the older man was trying to act normal about the situation so he decided to let it go. Instead of commenting, he made a face at the billionaire.

                “Not a kid.” He told him, purposely making himself sound petulant to amuse his mentor. “And I get knives pulled on me a lot. I’m kind of used to it.” He meant it as a joke, of course and Mr. Stark took it as one, making his own face at the younger boy rather than launching into a lecture about safety. Considering Mr. Stark had nearly called a therapist to the compound the first time Peter had let his Gen Z attitude show with a dark joke, the younger boy considered it progress.  

                “Do me a favor and never tell your aunt that, yeah? I don’t need to get slapped again.” Was all the man said, clapping the boy on his shoulder once more. “Since I’m already all the way back here, there’s no point in heading back in to finish it and since the baby spider’s out of the bag,so to speak, why don’t we go downstairs and I’ll introduce you to Nat properly, yeah?” Peter’s eyes widened in surprise at the offer and he eagerly nodded. All embarrassment and thoughts of Mr. Stark’s current relationship with the woman in question were pushed aside, the thought of being properly introduced to the Black Widow too good to pass up. He was already up out of his chair and half turned to the door before a hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

                “Aren’t you forgetting something, Pete?” Mr. Stark asked him, a smirk spreading on to his face. Peter thought for a moment, but nothing came to mind. “You really want _the_ Black Widow to see you in that outfit again?” Peter’s cheeks flamed as he remembered that he was still in his Hello Kitty pajamas. Mr. Stark just patted his shoulder, amusement clear on his face. “I didn’t think so. Be down in the common room in thirty minutes. Me and Nat will be waiting.”

                “Why thirty? I can be ready in five, Mr. Stark.” He just needed to dress and brush his teeth – his hair was a complete mess but that was of little importance when it came to being formally introduced to one of his top three Avengers. The older man just arched an eyebrow at him.

                “You were on the phone with Ted when I knocked, right?” Peter had forgotten he had told Mr. Stark that. “And you probably hung up super quick with barely any explanation?” Mr. Stark continued on. Peter didn’t answer him but the way he ducked his gaze down in guilt was answer enough. “So be a good boyfriend and call him back so he doesn’t freak out, thinking you’ve been kidnapped by the Black Widow or something.” Mr. Stark waved a hand as he spoke and Peter wondered if something similar had happened between Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark. He sounded like he was speaking from experience.

                “Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter said as the older man turned to leave.

                “Anytime, Underoos.” Mr. Stark waved a casual hand without turning around. “Tell  Ed I say hi and try not to get too gross,” he added as he opened the door. He had walked out before Peter could react so the boy settled for rolling his eyes at the closed door before turning to fish his phone out from the tangled sheets of his bed.

                Ned may have been annoyed that Peter had hung up on him so unceremoniously earlier but he would absolutely forgive him when he told him that Tony Stark wanted to say hi. And that he had nearly called him by the right name. And he would absolutely flip his top when he heard Peter was going to meet _Natasha Romanov_ again, this time without the fear of impending death. Peter was smiling as he pressed on Ned’s name, lifting his phone up so that his face was fully in view of the screen.

                 

                The absolutely humiliating disaster of his morning was feeling almost worth it and Peter was still grinning widely as Ned’s face popped up on his screen after only two rings.

                “Oh my God, Ned.” He began, excitement leaking in his voice as he launched into his recap of his conversation with Mr. Stark.

                His morning escapade was almost worth seeing the Black Widow again, and it was even more worth it when he watched Ned’s face go from annoyed-worried to a blooming smile that nearly matched Peter’s own.

                And it was _definitely_ worth hearing Ned call him ‘babe’ again in a loud, excited voice.

                 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoyed the story and I hope everyone was in character! I enjoyed writing Peter and Ned's phone call because flustered Peter is best Peter. The next story will be Peter meeting more of the Avengers (and flirting with Ned, of course). I actually have 3 more stories planned and then I think this series will be wrapping up. Thank you to everyone who's read this far and I hope you'll stick around for the conclusions of it!


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